Where Are You From?
I’ve Been Meaning to Ask… | June 6, 2021
Genesis 2:4b-15
John 1:35-51
Where are you from? It’s a question I’m familiar with—in large part because pastors rarely end up serving in the places where they grew up. I am from a small town in Western Kansas. I’m from wheat country. I’m from fried chicken on Sunday. I’m from ‘jello is a salad dish.’ I’m from a family that still spoke German and held German worship services at the start of WWII. I’m from people who journeyed from Russia to America because the Germans in Russia were looked down upon and threatened. I’m from farmers and ranchers. I’m from the old American Lutheran Church. I’m from Wartburg College and Wartburg Seminary. I’m from volunteering in Omaha and working a summer in Mackinaw City, MI. I’m from crazy college days and solitary days in San Antonio. I’m from depression and anxiety. I’m from care-free summers and begrudging music lessons.
Where are you from? If you’re like me, you don’t mind the question. Because it generally doesn’t hold many assumptions behind it—other than maybe where your accent places you within the borders of our country. I went to college in Iowa, where they asked about my southern drawl. And when I returned home, I was asked about my northern accent.
But consider another question that seems good-natured and caring. When are you due? All of a sudden, the women here at least understand what I’m talking about. That’s a question that has an assumption behind it—the assumption that the shape of one’s body indicates that they are pregnant. But sometimes, it doesn’t.
But the assumption comes from what the questioner sees and what they think that means. The question also comes from a sense that it is their business to know. It’s a fine line between caring curiosity and just plain nosiness.
I remember seeing a YouTube video that asked the question, “Where are you from.” A young woman of Asian descent was stretching, and a young white man stopped to engage her in conversation. She said something to him, and all of a sudden, he was so surprised. “Where are you from?” he said. “Your English is amazing!” She was from San Francisco. They speak English there. “No…where are you FROM?” She went back to where she was born. “NO, before that. Where are your PEOPLE from?” Her grandma was born in Seoul, Korea.
Oh, he shared a bit of Korean he had learned and mentioned his favorite Korean restaurants. So, she asked him the same questions. “Where are you from?” He was from somewhere in California. “No, where were you born? Where are your PEOPLE from?” Oh, he’s just American. “Native American?” Oh, no. Just regular American. “Where were your ancestors from?” England. So, she sported an English accent and started going on about a spot of tea, bangers and mash, mind the gap, and so on. “I love your peoples’ fish and chips.” He pulled a face and just said, “You’re weird.”
Where are you from? It seems like a simple question, but we clearly ask it with assumptions in mind. And those assumptions, as you just heard, lead us down some pretty dumb-thinking paths.
I wonder how the first human would have answered. And just an aside—while the word in Genesis is translated ‘man,’ ha’adam simply means ‘one formed from dust.’ God formed a being from the dust and give them life. So, if someone had asked this adam where they were from, what would they have said? I’m from Eden? No, before that. I’m from the dust? Yes. I’m from God’s breath. I’m a child of God.
The writer of this creation story makes a very different point than the one who wrote the story we find in Genesis 1. In Genesis 2, it’s not about chaos becoming ordered but about everything feeding into everything else. The plants couldn’t grow until the water flowed from the ground. The plants couldn’t thrive until there was someone to till and maintain the land. So, God caused the earth to bring forth water. And God created the human. And God planted the garden. And the human was tasked with caring for the plants, and the plants and trees were there for the human to eat from. And, not to poke fun, but it was the perfect circle of life. One gave to the other, and the other gave to the first. And they were interdependent—filled with life.
Where are you from? That first human was from a perfect circle of life-giving creation that was meant to go on forever. If we continued to read, we would hear that the human was lonely and needed a partner for their work. Eventually, after creating many animals, God finally took this human and from them, God created another. And God defined them—ish and isha. Man and woman. And the perfect interdependence became relationship—one for the other, and the other for the first. Equal partners in the work of God’s kingdom. Until they discovered they could become more--more than equal, more than mere humans. They could be like gods.
That discovery and their actions would lead them to become refugees—journeyers into the world. They had broken the perfect circle. And if they had been asked, “Where are you from?” I wonder what they would have said. “We’re from a place of beauty and holiness,” as a tear escapes her eyes. “We’re from toil and birth pangs and never enough,” calling forth his new reality.
Where are you from? Our curiosity to know can often unknowingly spark regret, anger, and even pride when we least expect it. It can be an unwanted or unwarranted question—one that assumes that the other is from somewhere other than where they are right now. Where are YOU from? Today, you’re from Our Saviour’s Lutheran Church. You’re from the ELCA. You’re from the long and continuous story of God incarnate. You’re from the body and blood of Christ. Should it matter to others, then, where your ancestors came from? Where you developed your accent? Where you learned English or Spanish or Arabic or German? Where you inherited the beautiful colors of your skin? From whom you got your eyes—or your hair—or your lack of hair?
When the disciples first encountered Jesus, their first question was, “Where are you staying?” Perhaps it was just out of curiosity. Maybe it was concern. Maybe they were ready to compete with each other to offer Jesus a place to stay with them. Maybe they, too, were travelers and hoped they could find room where Jesus was.
Poor Philip and Nathanael. As soon as Philip identified Jesus by his human parentage, including where he was from, Nathanael wanted to stop listening. “Can anything good come out of Nazareth?” Is there anything that can be gained from that s---hole place, as some might say? Interestingly, instead of arguing or defending, Philip merely said, “Come and see.” Because arguments won’t work. And, honestly, while sarcasm can sometimes make one feel better, that usually falls on deaf ears for those you WANT to hear it.
Come and see. Where are you from? Come and see. I wonder—when we ask that question, are we prepared to follow? When we ask an immigrant, “Where are you from?” are we ready to see their reality? Not just know what country or what region—but to know their experiences? Do we really want to go there? Will we look into what brought a person to where they are now? Where are you from? Perhaps they are from an African nation, their ancestors sold into slavery 400 years ago. Where are you from? Perhaps they are from Guatemala, their parents entrusting them to coyotes who abused them along the route to the promised land. Where are you from? Perhaps their ancestors came from Japan, but they still remember their time in American internment camps. Where are you from? Perhaps you consider yourself a ‘regular’ American, one disconnected from your roots because they go back as far as the Mayflower. Where are you from?
While all of those answers are real possibilities, the only answer you need to give is this: I am created by God’s love. I was born on this logically impossible planet. I’m from here. I’m from now. I’m from a perfect garden. I’m from toil and birth pangs. I’m from my parents’ laps. I’m from my grandparents’ laughter. I’m from both joy and pain. I’m from the same place you are. Where are YOU from?
Pastor Tobi White
Our Saviour’s Lutheran Church
Lincoln, NE
